Autumn's Game

by Mary Stone

  Winter frowned at the photographs of the tracks. “They’re not a match. Murphy lifted the Jeep and added oversized tires. I’m not an expert on this, but if you asked me, these tracks belong to an SUV. Do you have other tracks to compare them to?”

  The sheriff shook her head. “That’s our problem. Our guy hasn’t made any mistakes yet. He’s in, he’s out, he’s gone. Like a ghost. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Winter leaned back in her seat. “He’ll mess up. I heard through the grapevine that we have one of the country’s lead blood spatter experts coming up tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Rich threw up his hands. “How is that going to help us today?”

  Winter gave him a sympathetic look. “He’s an expert witness down at a big scene in Charleston, South Carolina. He’s been tied up the past couple days, but when he gets here, he’ll see things that nobody else has been able to see.”

  Carla sighed. “The way things are going, we’ll probably have a couple fresh bodies for him to investigate when he gets here.” She dropped her face into her hands, but only for a moment. She scrubbed her face and picked up her marker again. “Let’s set assignments for the day.”

  Outside the conference room, a door slammed. Footsteps stomped down the stairs, then farther off, another door received the same treatment.

  Moments later, there was a soft knock at the conference door and Mike Shadley, looking a bit pale around his mouth, stuck his head in. “Okay if I take a seat?”

  The sheriff waved him in. “Can I assume that Dr. Latham won’t be joining us?”

  Mike poured himself a cup of coffee. “You would be correct.” He handed the coffee to Carla. “On behalf of my company, please accept my apologies for the disruptions my associate has caused.”

  Autumn let out a lungful of air. Having Adam leave the building made it feel like someone had just called off a bomb threat.

  Carla actually batted her eyelashes at her other boss. Autumn found that fascinating and couldn’t look away as the sheriff’s smile widened. “Disruptions are part of my business, but I’m glad to know that particular one is out the door.” The lashes batted again. “Will you be staying in his place?”

  Mike beamed. “I’d like that very much, if you’ll have me.”

  Autumn thought the good sheriff would like to have him very much. In fact, she thought the good sheriff might soon drop onto one knee and offer him a proposal.

  Winter must have thought the same, because she glanced over at Autumn, her eyebrow raised to the hairline. Autumn shrugged but was secretly pleased. If Mike could give the poor woman a moment to not think about everything that was going on in her town, there was nothing wrong with that.

  With what appeared to be a concerted effort, Carla pulled herself back to the task at hand. “We were just going to create assignments for each team member.”

  Mike nodded. “I know I’m the new kid in the room, but I noticed that Adam was in the process of researching properties your suspect might be using for cover. It sounds like you’re having trouble finding where your boy has run off to. I’d like to take a look at the property records from up in the mountains. Lots of folks have old hunting cabins up there and homesteads that were abandoned as people got more of a taste for running water in the seventies and eighties, that might still be listed as vacation rentals.”

  Carla nodded. “I have a stack of old records that needs to be gone through. They haven’t been entered into a computer yet, so you’ll have to do it by hand.”

  “Fine with me. I’ll go through the oldest ones first. One of my special interests is computer forensics. I know you might have someone more qualified than me, but I’d like to tackle the assignment if you don’t.”

  Carla scribbled Mike’s name on the board. “That task is yours. What else?”

  Rich lifted a finger. “Bryan Langford should be back in town around eleven. Since his home is a crime scene, I’ll get him settled in a hotel.”

  Carla frowned. “Poor kid. Just so you know, the kid’s alibis are airtight, and we have no reason to suspect he had anything to do with the murder of his parents, but I’ll personally interview him as well upon his arrival.” She turned back to the room. “What else?”

  Autumn leaned forward. “I’d like to interview Mrs. Helen Mathers again.” She frowned, not sure how to explain something she wasn’t certain of herself. “Just call it a hunch, but I think there’s more there than meets the eye.”

  When she passed a folder that contained the Mathers’s foster home information, Winter shuddered the moment she flipped the cover open. She quickly flipped it shut.

  Autumn frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Winter crossed her arms over her chest. “Just a little chill.”

  Autumn knew her friend well enough than to argue with her over something like that. Winter had had a reaction to Helen Mathers too.

  “And I’d like to surprise her,” Autumn added, “so please, don’t anyone call her and warn her of my visit.”

  Winter turned her gaze on Autumn, her blue eyes nearly penetrating her skin. “Our visit. I’m going with you. Backup.”

  Mike held out both hands. “If you’re worried that she needs a partner, I can go with her instead.”

  Winter gave him a considering look before tapping the folder. “That’s not necessary, Mike. Autumn’s good at what she does, but I’d like to be there. Just in case she needs someone who’s good at what I do.”

  21

  It was cold. It was dark.

  Of course, it was always like that, down in the cellar’s secret place. It had to be. It was where bad girls and boys went to learn their lessons. To think.

  The small room was made of layer after layer of cinderblock, then padded with some material that made it absolutely soundless. “So you can be alone with only your thoughts.” That was what Mrs. Mathers told Ashley when she put her down there the first time.

  Ashley wasn’t one to learn her lessons very well.

  Inside a small room, Ashley’s bed was two shipping pallets covered with several layers of cardboard. The last time Ashley had been down here, she’d ripped up the thin yoga mat that had been much softer. This time, she was greeted with the cardboard. She had no pillow, no blanket. Her only comfort were the clothes she’d been wearing when she’d been…punished.

  She tried to sit up, careful to not let her back touch the dirty boards.

  It hurt so bad.

  Tears burned her eyes. She’d never been beaten like that before.

  Sure, Mrs. Helen was all for corporal punishment, but that normally consisted of spankings with a paddle. She hadn’t used a paddle this time. Or a belt. The stick had felt like it had been made of thorns.

  Light flashed in front of Ashley’s eyes, and she blinked and blinked, trying to see it again. It was gone, and she realized it hadn’t been a real light. In addition to being completely soundproof, the room let in not even a speck of light. Part of the lesson.

  “Young people have too many distractions these days. Here, I’m giving you the opportunity to see inside of yourself so you can make better choices and live a life that better suits our Lord.”

  Mrs. Helen made it sound like a gift.

  The light flashed again, like an explosion of stars just in front of her eyes. It made her head hurt.

  Was she awake? Or was she asleep?

  She wasn’t even sure about that. She wasn’t sure about what day it was either.

  Ashley lay back down, and there it was, the pain. She was awake now for sure.

  Her wounds stuck to the board when she tried to roll onto her side again. She felt a scab tear open and felt warm blood flow down her skin.

  She was so hot. The box was cold, and she began to wonder if Mrs. Helen had lit a fire just outside. For a moment she thought of Hansel and Gretel. Was this room really an oven? And was she Mrs. Helen’s next meal?

  No, that couldn’t be.

  The social workers would come to investigate if she w
ent missing. Wouldn’t they? Or would they even care?

  They’d probably think that she’d simply run away, and Ashley knew how hard authorities searched for “troubled teenagers.” They didn’t. There would be no Amber Alert. Her picture probably wouldn’t even end up on the side of a milk carton.

  Milk.

  What she wouldn’t give for a nice tall glass of the stuff. She’d drink half and then use the other half to soothe the burning on her back.

  She needed to pee, and her insistent bladder was telling her she didn’t have much time. If she peed where she lay, the cardboard would soak it all up, and she didn’t want to lay in any additional filth.

  There was a bucket in the corner with a seat cut into the lid. There was no drain in the floor. If you knocked the bucket over, Mrs. Helen would make you clean up the mess before you could leave.

  The door was a small steel plate, three feet tall and three feet wide, that cut her fingers when she tried to move it. It opened by sliding back and forth. When she knocked on the panel, there wasn’t even a muffled clonk.

  The soundproofing material soaked up all the sounds, even her screams. Ashley had watched a movie once about how people were tortured in what was called sensory deprivation rooms. Mrs. Helen must have watched the exact same movie to get this idea.

  From the outside, the door of the hidden room was easy to overlook. Mrs. Helen had a shelf with tiny wheels that stood in front of the door. The vegetables she canned every year were in a neat line on the shelves.

  Ashley began to sweat, and if she had been able to see, she thought for sure that her skin would be on fire. When the sweating stopped, she grew cold and pulled one of the pieces of cardboard over her like a blanket.

  It helped keep her warm. But not enough.

  She was hungry. Thirsty. And still needed to pee.

  It was ironic that, as thirsty as she was, her body insisted on ridding her of the fluid that helped her survive. If she only had the energy to make it to the bucket. But she didn’t. Even though she’d done nothing but lay here, she was so very tired.

  Since she’d been inside, Mrs. Helen had brought her a little food and a glass of water two times. That must mean that she’d been inside the box for two days?

  The last time the door opened, Ashley begged for Mrs. Helen to let her out. “I swear I’ll be good. I swear it.”

  Ashley hadn’t been able to see Mrs. Helen’s face. The little flashlight she held had hurt Ashley’s eyes, and she’d been barely able to open them.

  “I don’t believe you,” Mrs. Helen had said. “I believe you need more time to learn your lesson.”

  Ashley had cried and begged as the paper plate of bread and cheese had been tossed into the space along with a paper glass of water. By the time Mrs. Helen began to close the door again, something on the wall had caught Ashley’s eye, but it was gone before she could examine it more closely.

  As the dark enclosed her again, Ashley had done nothing else but think about what lessons she needed to learn. She had forgotten that the most important thing was surviving until she aged out of the foster system, or until something happened to Mrs. Helen and Ashley was transferred somewhere else.

  That was her mistake. Mrs. Helen wanted girls to be seen and not heard. Ashley had never been good at keeping quiet.

  Most of the time, she could at least understand why Mrs. Helen was mad at her.

  But this time was different. Lately, Mrs. Helen had been different.

  When Ashley had first come into the home, Mrs. Helen had been patient with her. Mean, but patient. She wasn’t patient anymore.

  She seemed angry all the time, and she’d been talking to herself a great deal. Once, Mrs. Helen had actually cursed. It wasn’t very loud, but still, Mrs. Helen never cursed.

  The other kids felt her changing too.

  The boys were little pussies and always did what they were told. Mrs. Helen praised them consistently…well, she used to. Lately, though, she was even mean to them too. The boys were afraid, Ashley could tell.

  What had changed?

  She didn’t know, but something was wrong with Mrs. Helen.

  Ashley would have to do better.

  She knew that she was a difficult child. Everyone told her so. Her last set of foster parents had given her up because “they couldn’t do a thing with her.” She had been sent to Mrs. Helen as a last resort. “She can care for anyone.”

  When her other foster parents had heard where Ashley was being sent, they seemed happy. “It will be good for you,” they’d told her as she’d packed her measly belongings into plastic bags.

  Did they know what Mrs. Helen was like?

  Did they suspect?

  They saw all those difficult kids going to Mrs. Helen’s house, the ones that nobody else could deal with, and they saw all those “good” kids coming out.

  Why couldn’t Ashley have been good? Why couldn’t she have taken her other foster parents’ hints before she ended up here? Why couldn’t she have behaved herself so she didn’t end up in this awful chamber again?

  Benji had never been in what they called the thinking box. Nicholas had been there once, as far as Ashley knew. He had insisted to Mrs. Helen that he was right about something stupid—something about Thomas Jefferson on his history homework. He had backtalked to Mrs. Helen. Nicholas wasn’t good at figuring out how other people were feeling. He didn’t understand that when Mrs. Helen’s face turned mean, it was time to shut up. It didn’t matter whether you were right or not.

  Just shut up.

  He had gone into the box for a day. After that, he’d apologized to Mrs. Helen for arguing with her about his homework. “You worked very hard to help me with my homework, and my attitude showed that I didn’t appreciate that. I am truly sorry, and I will treat your help with the respect it deserves.”

  The two of them didn’t have any problems after that.

  He had taken Ashley to the side that night, right before bedtime. “I learned something important,” he’d whispered to her. “Mrs. Helen makes things invisible when she doesn’t like them. A little bit of invisibility is good, but a lot of invisibility is dangerous. When she looks at you, you just have to be the right amount of invisible. You won’t be in trouble if you get your invisibility just right.”

  At the time, Ashley hadn’t understood a word of what he had said, and she’d wondered if he’d gone a little crazy.

  Now, it was beginning to make more sense.

  She had to be present and look attentive even if her thoughts wandered or she was distracted. She had to smile and look happy, just like Lisa did most of the time. She needed to—

  The door opened, and the light pierced her eyes, causing her to cry out in pain. She rolled to her back, but that hurt even more.

  “Hush, child,” Mrs. Helen hissed. “There is no need for all this nonsense.

  Ashley pressed her lips together, trying to muffle her sobs. She hadn’t meant to make a sound. She hadn’t meant to cry.

  “Please…”

  “You’ve clearly not learned your lesson. I’ll just need to do something else with Lisa until you do.”

  The door slammed shut again. No water. No food.

  No hope.

  But what did she mean about Lisa?

  Lisa was good. What was she going to do to her?

  Sitting up, Ashley pressed her cheek against the cool wall. She was hot again. Burning up from the inside out. The walls were cool.

  She imagined Lisa sitting on the other side of the wall, whispering to her.

  It will be okay, Ashley.

  But Lisa would never do that. She couldn’t. If she did, she’d be punished.

  Still, Ashley put her hand up against the wall, imagining Lisa putting her hand on the other side. Heart sisters, they’d started calling themselves.

  Under her fingers, whatever material covered the cinderblock felt rough, like something had been gouged into the smooth surface. She followed the path with her finger. It was a letter.
More than one.

  Thrilled to have something, anything, to do to relieve the boredom of the box, Ashley moved her hand until she found the beginning and began to trace.

  It was a G, she thought. She went back and traced it again, spelling it out by touch. She was certain that time.

  G

  I

  N

  A

  Someone named Gina had found or smuggled something into this room sharp enough to carve into the wall. So smart. So dangerous too. What if Mrs. Helen had seen it?

  She never would have been let out of the basement room.

  Had Gina survived this place? And if she did, where was she now?

  And what was happening to Lisa?

  Exhausted now, Ashley lay back down on her bed of cardboard. She couldn’t worry about them anymore. She had to learn to be good.

  Be invisibly visible.

  The problem was…she couldn’t do it. In her heart of hearts, Ashley knew that type of life wasn’t for her.

  No life was for her.

  But death didn’t seem ready for her either. The scars on her wrists were proof enough for that.

  Ashley began to cry as the heat boiled on the surface of her skin. She wanted away from this life. She just couldn’t do it anymore.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Lisa. Then she lifted her wrist to her mouth and began to chew.

  22

  Winter stared at the two-story clapboard house as Autumn pulled up in front of it. It was such a perfectly normal house that Winter’s hackles were already up.

  Built in the eighties, the house had a two-car garage, a front porch with an empty flower box, and two trees in the front yard for shade. Even in January, the front yard was neat and tidy. The sidewalk was cracked in places, but clean. A flag fluttered off the front porch, teal with seashells and flowers with HOME SWEET HOME written on it.

  Autumn’s lips pursed. “Are you feeling the same thing I’m feeling?”

  Winter just stared. “If what you’re feeling is making your skin crawl, then yes, I’m feeling the same thing.” Something pulsed in her head as flashes of sticks and blood appeared in her mind. She braced her hands on the sides of her skull to keep it from exploding.